Private Sydney Read online

  About the Book

  Even for Private Investigations, the world’s top detective agency, it’s tough to find a man who doesn’t exist …

  Craig Gisto has promised Eliza Moss that his elite team at Private Sydney will investigate the disappearance of her father. After all, as the CEO of a high-profile research company, Eric Moss shouldn’t be difficult to find.

  Except it’s not just the man who’s gone missing, all evidence he ever existed has vanished too. And there are powerful figures pulling the strings who want Moss to stay ‘lost’.

  But when a woman is found brutally murdered and a baby is missing, Private are suddenly drawn into another frantic search. And this is a case Craig has to throw everything into, because he may well be responsible for sending the killer straight to the victim’s door …

  The world’s most popular thriller writer teams up with Australia’s bestselling crime writer for the latest action-packed novel in the Private series.

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Chapter 106

  Chapter 107

  Chapter 108

  Chapter 109

  Chapter 110

  Chapter 111

  Chapter 112

  Chapter 113

  Chapter 114

  Chapter 115

  Chapter 116

  Chapter 117

  Chapter 118

  Chapter 119

  Chapter 120

  Chapter 121

  Chapter 122

  Chapter 123

  Chapter 124

  Chapter 125

  Chapter 126

  Chapter 127

  Chapter 128

  About the Authors

  Also James Patterson

  Murder House extract

  Copyright Notice

  Chapter 1

  BRANCHES FROM THE eucalypts and blue gums cracked as they whipped the electrically charged air.

  A storm from the east would hit soon and cover his tracks through the dense bushland. The cabin was isolated and close to a river, with a 270-degree vantage of the valley below, but that was in daylight.

  Every sense on heightened alert, he scanned the doorframe with his night-vision goggles for the two strands of hair he’d positioned in the jamb days before. Locating both, he exhaled as the door eased open.

  The urn over the fireplace was exactly as he’d left it too, the tiny notches in the wood lined up precisely with its rim. He checked his watch. Ninety seconds.

  He unscrewed the base of the urn and located the USB device, which he secured inside his zippered jacket pocket.

  His watch buzzed with a slow pulse. Someone had infiltrated his perimeter. With no road access from the north, they had to be on foot.

  The pulsing sound doubled. Now two people headed towards the cabin. Cleaners. Men whose job it was to clean up mess and make sure nothing was left behind.

  It confirmed he was a priority. If they had made it here, a hell of a lot of manpower was being invested in hunting him down.

  He snatched his backpack and headed for the bedroom. Sliding back a rug at the foot of the bed exposed the trap door.

  With the alarm pulsing on his wrist, he grabbed a bowie knife from his pack and dug it into the narrow space between the hatch and floor, dislodging caked dirt.

  Summoning all his strength, he grunted and yanked. The hatch gave way. He squeezed through and lowered himself feet first. With a hook and wire he’d screwed into the cavity years before, he reached up, replaced the handle in its recess and repositioned the rug before lowering the hatch.

  Sweat dripped from his forehead. He checked his watch again and listened.

  No other sensors had been tripped. Instinct told him there were still just two men out there.

  On his elbows and stomach the fit was tight, but at least he could propel backwards. After a few metres he removed a rope and screw-top tin from his pack. He unwound the line of rope before topping it with a thin layer of magnesium powder.

  Fifteen more metres back and his boots should reach the removable panels at the rear of the wood shed.

  The sound of feet clomping inside the cabin was suddenly paralysing. There were two male voices, then glass smashed.

  He lit the rope and reverse commando-crawled as fast as his elbows, toes and knees could manage.

  Flame ripped along the tunnel to the base of the cabin. As he kicked out the shed boards and escaped the tunnel, yelling pierced the night.

  By the time they’d dealt with the flaring caused by the water, he’d be long gone.

  Goggles fixed and backpack secure, he jogged along one of the paths he’d previously mapped out, careful to stay close to the gully on his left.

  Fifty metres along, one of his motion detectors was attached to the base of a tree. It had already saved his life and could come in handy next time.

  As he bent down and unstrapped the cord, something brushed his
right wrist. Instinctively, he slapped it hard with his other gloved hand before pocketing the device and running on.

  Within minutes, pain tore through his wrist, like a nail had been hammered into it.

  He could hear voices in the distance.

  Sweat poured from his face as the burning in his wrist intensified. Nausea rose in his gullet but he had to keep moving. He was light-headed.

  Wind howled as the storm moved in. The sooner it came, the less likely they’d find him before daylight. He headed off again and stumbled on a rock formation. Reeling back, he staggered, unable to maintain his footing. He reached for something to grab. Anything.

  Agonising pain shot through his side as he hit the rocks below. The world went black.

  Chapter 2

  THE EARLY MORNING temperature was crisp as I stretched aching muscles. Even a punishing run couldn’t lessen the grief that today brought. I watched the flaming sun rising above the north and south heads, as a mammoth cruise ship glided into Sydney Harbour. It took me back to my honeymoon when Becky and I sailed home from Noumea.

  The spectacle of passing through those heads as the sun lit the city was one of our most treasured memories. It was the moment she told me she wanted to be known as Mrs Craig Gisto.

  It had been eight years now, and a song, a smell, even a sound, could still trigger a volcanic release of pain from my core.

  If Cal had lived, he would be eleven today.

  The car accident that took their lives trapped Cal as an eternal three-year-old and me as a widower. I wondered why there was a word for children who lost parents, but not one for parents who had suffered the greatest loss of all.

  After a quick shower and breakfast, I was comfortably heading to the city in my Ferrari Spider. On Military Road, I stopped at the traffic lights just before the turn-off to Taronga Zoo. Cal’s favourite place.

  Memories of him hanging off a gorilla statue were interrupted by a call. Jack Morgan. It had to be late morning on the west coast.

  ‘Hi, Jack, what can I do for you?’

  The LA-based owner of Private spoke quickly. ‘Craig, I’m on a helicopter so we may lose connection. I’m asking for a favour. Eric Moss is the CEO of a company named Contigo Valley.’ The background noise made it difficult to hear.

  ‘You’re fading,’ I said into the hands-free microphone.

  He shouted over the din. ‘He and his daughter are old friends. Moss was at the top of his field and disappeared two days ago. Emailed a resignation with no explanation.’

  ‘Do you suspect foul play?’

  Jack gave directions to the pilot then returned. ‘This is a billion-dollar company with international contracts. It needs Moss.’

  I knew some of the work the company did with safety and medical equipment. So the CEO resigned on Friday and hadn’t been heard of over the weekend. He could have been drinking away his sorrows or celebrating with a young fling.

  I braked as a BMW cut into my lane on the approach to the Harbour Bridge.

  ‘Is the daughter high-profile?’

  Most of Private’s clients were either famous, wealthy, or both, and wanted scandals kept out of the tabloids.

  ‘She’s special, Craig. I’m asking you to do this for her. Her name’s Eliza Moss. She owns Shine Management.’

  The phone crackled again.

  ‘I’ve been a big supporter of Eric Moss,’ Jack continued. ‘Trust me, this isn’t like him. Eliza and the company are his life. He wouldn’t walk away without a fight. And he’d never do this to his only child.’

  I wondered what sort of daughter panicked when her father didn’t contact her over the weekend. But if Jack thought it worth looking into, I’d do it, despite this week’s heavy workload.

  ‘Thanks, Craig,’ he finished. ‘Let me know if I can help in any way.’

  When the line went silent, I replayed the conversation in my mind. Jack mentioned Eliza was special to him. I wondered how special.

  After pulling into the car park just after seven am, I took the stairs to street level.

  First thing I saw was shattered glass.

  The ground-to-ceiling door to Private had been smashed.

  Chapter 3

  I STEPPED PAST the two young men working on the glass repairs and was greeted by our receptionist thrusting forward a handful of messages. Collette Lindman hadn’t been with us long, and seemed overly eager at times, but had skills that I believed would come in handy one day.

  ‘These are the important calls on the machine. And there’s a married couple waiting in your office. They were supposed to see Johnny at eight but came early to beat the traffic and had a good run. I couldn’t leave them in the waiting area with all that broken glass and without the door, it’s been pretty breezy –’

  Collette barely drew breath. First thing was the door, which she still hadn’t explained.

  ‘What happened? I didn’t get a call.’

  ‘Oh, that? I didn’t want to bother you. The security company phoned me at home and said our door had been smashed by vandals. Anyway, I rang the glass repairers, who came straight out. They said other businesses had breakages too. I hope it was the right thing to do. Before you ask, the door was shattered but unopened. No one got inside.’

  Given the amount of high-tech equipment in the place, that was one positive. It was difficult to take it personally when other businesses had been affected.

  I stepped further inside so the workmen couldn’t hear. ‘Who exactly are the people in my office?’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Finch. It’s heartbreaking what they’ve been through. I didn’t think you’d mind, under the circumstances.’

  Getting to the point was not Collette’s strong suit. ‘That’s fine. What are they here for?’

  ‘A background check. I assured them the name “Private” means their information stays that way, ’cause they seemed pretty nervous about confidentiality.’

  I felt a pounding in my head. ‘You did the right thing, Collette. The police will need the security footage from last night. We’ll have good images of the door being hit and who did it.’

  She hesitated. ‘That’s another thing I didn’t want to bother you with yet.’

  ‘Tell me now.’

  ‘The computers are down. I mean, that might be why there isn’t actually any vision of what happened overnight.’ She touched my arm. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve called the technicians. They’ll be here in a couple of hours.’

  Technicians would take far too long. Without computers we couldn’t work.

  ‘Get Darlene to come in early. If she can’t fix the problem, she’ll know who can.’

  I took stock of Monday morning so far: a favour for Jack Morgan, a smashed door, no computers and an anxious couple in my office, all by seven am. Cal’s birthday was shaping up to be one hell of a day.

  Chapter 4

  I COULD SEE the pair through the glass wall to my office. The man paced while his wife sat twisting the rings on her left hand.

  I entered, introduced myself. The husband was late forties. The cut of his suit, along with the white shirt and pale blue tie, suggested middle management, or a small business operator.

  ‘Gus. Finch.’ He shook my hand vigorously. ‘And this is my wife, Jennifer.’

  I greeted the woman, who wore a crimson silk shirt with a black skirt. She had to be at least ten years younger than Gus.

  I took a seat at my desk. Finch sat next to his wife and held her hand.

  ‘How can we help you?’ I asked.

  ‘We want a background check on someone. A potential employee.’

  With the computers down, I opened a journal and started taking notes as Finch began rattling off his requirements.

  ‘You should check she is healthy, no mental illness, has no criminal past, and that includes charges for DUI. I don’t just mean convictions in case she got off on some technicality, I’m talking charges, any history of affairs …’ He ticked off the list on his fingers. ‘Doesn’t abuse drugs or alco
hol, is clear of any sexually transmitted infections, has a mortgage to show she’s committed to staying locally and isn’t in more than$200,000 debt.’

  This was clearly no ordinary pre-employment check, unless the job was for a childcare worker. The mortgage question threw me. Not many nannies in Sydney had paid off mortgages to the last $200K. Nannying jobs were something students or new graduates sought.